


The Saber and the Samurai

by x_luminous_x



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night (Visual Novel), Fate/stay night - All Media Types
Genre: Action, Altria Pendragon, Artoria Pendragon - Freeform, Assassin - Freeform, Excalibur, F/M, FGO - Freeform, Fate, Fate Grand Order - Freeform, Fate Series - Freeform, Fate Stay Night - Freeform, Friendship, Implied Ship, Rivals, Romance, Saber - Freeform, Sasaki kojiro - Freeform, Sasaki x Artoria
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:34:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22639315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_luminous_x/pseuds/x_luminous_x
Summary: Upon one of their weekly spar sessions that gets a little serious, Kojiro discovers the symbolic power of Excalibur, and realises he may have more in common with the western blade and the Once and Future King than he initially realised.
Relationships: Sasaki Kojiro / Artoria Pendragon
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	The Saber and the Samurai

**Author's Note:**

> This work was a comission for a tumblr user, however is being posted to ao3 so that others may enjoy it for free. For enquiries about how to comission me, email sakuramiracles@gmail.com, I am always open. Ao3 is a non-profit organisation and makes no money from this, or any future works.

A clash of heroes, a clash of culture, and clash of blades. The sleek, lithe blade of the katana; nimble, lightweight – the pinnacle of man-made artisan, steel forged in fire with such dedication, such artistry, that the katana and nature of the wielder were almost as one. The man behind the blade had an iron-willed determination akin to the fiery birth of his sword; such was evident in the blazing determination of his gaze. As he stood atop the temple stairs, anticipating the return of his opponent, the fight in his eyes was utterly radiant, his will of steel shinning brighter than the silver moon placed behind his head.  
One man he may have been, but the darkened form of his silhouette held the foreboding presence of an entire army.  
The samurai himself was nameless. An entity who lived, breathed, and died by the sword, dedicating his entire life to it to the point that it could be considered borderline insanity. He was an ordinary man born without magic. Yet, he forged himself a legend by training with his sword beyond the brinks of human limitations. So immaculate was his skill that the once simple farm boy became recorded in the elixir of humanity’s greatest heroes and legends. Despite the hero's fictitious nature, he was dubbed and summoned by the grail under the title Sasaki Kojiro: a legendary samurai who rivalled the legendary swordmaster Miyamoto Musashi.  
Sasaki Kojiro may have been fictitious, but the nameless samurai was the real life equivalent most worthy of bearing the title. The man who reigned atop the temple stairs was a nameless entity who was the embodiment of devotion to the blade, a demon-like wielder of the katana – an existence brought into this world purely to fight. His eyes flashed. He had caught sight of the regal he awaited: Artoria Pendragon.  
The anticipation from both parties for their weekly spar seemed to electrify the night. He smiled to himself as the wind carried her presence from the torrent of air that was her invisible sword, almost as if the wind was the hushed voices of her followers' past, singing songs about her grandeur: the most legendary king and her most legendary sword. The steady breeze caused the cherry blossom trees around them to shudder and breathe a flurry of pink petals across their path, as if the entire Earth was shuddering with anticipation for the clash of the legendary swords. Their petals rushed in a serpentine torrent behind the once and future king, just like a dragon that her name bore. The blonde girl stood before him, golden hair and blue dress billowing, moonlight reflected on her shining armor, seeming so small at the foot of the tall temple stairs, but one should not be deceived – her petite size was not indicative of her strength. She was not some swallow to be cut down, as he'd once learned the hard way.  
She was an entire lion.  
The samurai's long, sleek, indigo hair wisped in the wind, and a smirk curled his lips.  
“Still with the invisible sword?” Kojiro asked, voice wry. “Are we not past such formalities now?” He shut one eye in a wink. “Or is your clunky, western-style sword so ugly and barbaric that you choose to hide it from prying eyes?”  
Having the very symbol of her kingship insulted scathed Artoria a little, causing her face to wrinkle distastefully. She shut her eyes, grinning back, yet the corner of her mouth twitched a little.  
“Denying myself every advantage would be the same as not taking you seriously. Do you admit to needing a handicap, Assassin?” Artoria retorted coolly.  
“Oh?” Kojiro's smirk turned into a full on grin. “So you admit to needing a handicap when I revealed my true name?”  
Kojiro enjoyed the irritation in her eyes. Despite being someone he often sparred with, his guard dropped almost entirely – a mistake for anyone else, but no matter for him, a master swordsman. There was a voracious blast like a lions roar. A literal torrent of wind, spiralling like a dragon, knocked him off of his feet. Dethroned from his usual spot at the top of the stairs, he came crashing to his behind.  
Artoria laughed; a grim reminder that this woman was not to be trifled with.  
“Are you asking for a literal demonstration of the true name of my sword?” she asked, a hint of smugness curling her lips, “for if you wish to be better acquainted, I can comply.”  
“Tch.” Kojiro attempted to retain a cool demeanour while knocked to his behind, sweeping dirt off himself to poise his body for a battle ready.  
“Magical armor, torrents and lasers. A real swordsman doesn't need such flashy complications, for a real swordsman –”  
His words were cut short from a sudden electrification through the air. Magical energy flourished as if, from the Earth, there was some dormant beast suddenly waking from a thousand-year slumber. A feeling of warmth blossomed upon his hand; he turned his head, finding speckles of light like gold dust rising between the gaps in his fingers.  
It seemed as if she was not willing to hold back this particular night. Artoria yielded the blade before her face, absorbing the light in her sword in a rendezvous golden blaze, the steel blocking one emerald eye so that the other glittered with an almost mischievous kind of determination. “If you wish to sully Exclibur's name, I am more than eager to give you a mere taste of its true power. One may only acquire my sword through their character; even though any may use it, I was the only one who could wield it as it was meant to be, for I was the one chosen by the sword in the stone.” The roaring wind raised – alongside the beat of his heart as he watched the girl be devoured by golden light. “I wouldn't be able to wield such a sword if I was unfit to carry such power in the first place!” she called triumphantly.  
He was so engrossed in her image that he hadn't noticed the entire world was glittering gold. Golden orbs, like a million fireflies, rose from the earth. Almost as if they were the spirits of all the fallen warriors buried beneath the earth reawakening, they built a golden staircase to rise skyward, as if finding peace in the presence of the girl now imbued in golden light. They ascended towards the heavens as if this itself was how the stars were born, climbing to externalise their presence amongst the moon and stars, their fallen comrades who watched from above.  
The wind drowned out his ears, blasting so ferociously it seemed to carry away all the thoughts in his mind. Artoria's hair and dress were danced within it, cherry blossom petals spiralling around the rearing dragon amongst the iridescent speckles of gold, the once invisible sword gradually becoming submerged in an aureate sheath of holy light.  
To call it beautiful would be blasphemous. The word would simply taint it; human language did not have the expressive power to describe the holy construct. Looking upon it, his heart suddenly felt warmed. Everything in his life he felt at peace with, he even his unruly end against Musashi, because every battle had meaning for the fact that it allowed him to wield his sword here and now.  
“Ex –”  
Kojiro suddenly remembered himself.  
“Are you crazy?” he barked as her sword now gained the height of a gigantic beam of light that kissed the heavens. He was a human swordsman, and the sword he himself yielded possessed no magical powers; when it came to swordplay alone, he could eclipse her, but in terms of all other things, technically, she was the superior heroic spirit.  
His sweating hands gripped the sheath of his sword; there was no time to even move – even if he could survive, he feared the collateral damage might be so huge that Caster might kill him if the sword didn’t first. He had to respond with the only way he knew how: with his sword, for that was the only option to him. It was insane for him to expect to parry a death beam like Excalibur, but what else was he supposed to try?  
Time itself seemed to slow down to the point every movement felt huge and weighted. But in reality, everything was transpiring at the speed of light. It was extremely lucky that the grounds of Ryuudo temple where inhibited by a spell that greatly weakened the power of noble phantasms.  
Saber then did something unexpected: she pulled the sword to the side of her body and mimicked his signature pose that he took before Tsubame Gaeshi. With the movement, all of the glowing energy in the scene drew into her blade, making it glow like golden fire that she could hold tight in her hands. Kojiro could see a smirk on Artoria's face. With that confident smile, she thrust Excalibur out in front of her and released a thin beam of energy that was unlike she had normally ever used.  
The ending of the name of Excalibur was lost to Kojirou's ears as a high pitched noise rang out, and a thin, needle-like stream of light shot out of the tip of her blade. The golden beam travelled like a bullet; Kojiro hands began to dig tightly into his sword's handle, focusing all his attention upon it – one wrong move, and such a retort would prove fatal.  
A cherry blossom drifted in front of his blade, and was severed in two as Kojiro's blade passed through the air, slicing like a knife through butter as it passed through the holy light.  
Two individual streams of light travelled like comets through the air. The ground rumbled, but he knew better than to take his eyes off his opponent for one instance.  
What she finally fired from her sword was merely a distraction, a mere display of power to give a taste of the true nature of her sword – it was barely potent enough to leave a burn, and therefore did not do any damage to his sword. It was not the true Excalibur.  
If it was the true display of the most powerful noble phantasm, it would shatter the blade on contact – and himself along with it. All it was, in reality, was a thin thread of mana carefully fired at him... To distract him. And it almost worked.  
Artoria came soaring from above, driving her golden sword downward to slash through the air.  
Kojiro held his sword to the side in a defensive position to slide the sword down across his. The steel of his sword rang shrill in the night; in a head on battle of one on one, the western sword had the brute force necessary to counter the more agile katana. Knowing this, he pressed his body weight into his sword to slide up Excalibur, driving Artoria further back down the stairs to avoid a counter. She rode the wind to bolt back upwards; his steel sword flashed like lightning in the dazzling moonlight as it moved with almost machine-like speed and precision to counter all her blows. Sparks flew as the silver blade's steel slid against the gold, their reflection casting like flames in his irises as his heart pounded and blood gushed with exhilaration throughout his veins.  
“This katana I yield, it is over 1.5 metres in length – it was once considered a joke to carry a sword that long, making it so flimsy that the slightest degree of mistake in my parries would bend it like a reed in the wind. However, in this circumstance, it yields the advantage so perfectly it is almost as it was born for it: I exist solely to defend this temple, and its length forbids your approach!” Kojiro called triumphantly.  
Artoria grinned, her emerald eyes glistening, a whirlwind of glitter trailing through the air as she swiped her sword once more. “But only one mistake is all I need to melt it to nothing; that sword is not made for direct confrontation against a western blade!”  
Even if she could control the wind, it was he who yielded the steel like a hurricane, a graceful arch of the blade swinging outward before blocking every one of her blows like a striking viper.  
“That's because such a blade and such a technique are nothing but brute force! What is the point of strength if you do not know how to properly wield it!?” he spat.  
His sword was like an extension of his body, thus, in this form that knew only battle and his dedication to it, he weaved it through the air like another limb, like a gracefully soaring bird. It struck outwards to aim for her neck; sparks, like fireworks, exploded with voracious clangs of steel each time they met.  
He was so excited, so exhilarated, he even jumped down from his advantage point to challenge her head-on, the joy of fulfilling his sole reason for existence ignited in his eyes. The two swordsmen moved like in some twisted dance, their blades moving like pure beams of golden and silver light, their bodies a mere blur to whoever may have been looking. Steel flashed constantly, voraciously, like two deadly twisters. Suddenly, they both clashed, eyes baring into each other as they both attempted to overpower the other, only the breadth of crossed steel separating them. Both of them stopped mid-parry, as if perfectly in sync, pulling off all pressure from both of their swords. However, if one of them decided, either Kojiro could slide up and behead Artoria, or she could bend his sword into a gross angle. But, a heartbeat of peace was shared between them.  
“This me knows only my sword,” he said. “I exist only to defend, I exist only to fight. Can you really be beat this me – this being consisting purely of sword technique – when this battle summarises the entire point of my existence? I wish only to fight, to define my own legend here and now!”  
They were so close that he caught the sparkle of realisation that dawned upon her eyes head on. Something changed in Saber then, something that surpassed beyond the thrill of the battle. A warmth passed through her eyes like a sunset, leaving her appear as if glowing, as a smile painted her lips in a literal beam. The steel she once pressed with the strength of a lion began to weaken; he pressed his sword tentatively against hers, feeling her grip artificially weaken for some reason and, gently, she lowered her blade.  
“Saber...?” Kojiro called with confusion, his heart still beating quickly with exhilaration.  
The wind softly quivered. Turning to the base of the stairs, she raised her blade before her, staring at the golden light with admiration in her eyes.  
“It's...well...” Artoria's eyes glazed with a distant fondness, becoming reminiscent. “Forgive me for growing nostalgic and sentimental on you. It's just that someone once said that Excalibur is a symbol of the hopes and dreams of fallen warriors that their battle may have meaning.” The sword pulsed and flourished with light, as if responding to her words. “It is a legend, forged in hope and prayer – the personification of the word glory. The blade is etched with the hearts and souls of those fallen in the battlefield, its blade woven with those souls who still cling to that desire to be exalted. And, well...”  
She hesitated. Kojiro chuckled and, in her pause, decided to defuse her hesitance with a joke of his own. “My sword is over 1.5 metres in length. It's name literally means Laundry Pole.”  
She laughed. Still smiling, delicately, she smoothed her skirts, sitting on the temple stairs he once reigned alone. He watched her gaze at the sky for a moment. Keeping some distance between them, Kojiro sat down next to her, making sure to sit on the opposite end of the step as, somehow, he felt acutely aware of her presence, as if there was a magnetisation between them.  
Still she was paused, so he decided to talk about his own blade if they were to be talking of their histories together.  
“Well.” Kojiro looked up, staring up at the same saucer moon as her. “My blade is something forged by men, not some magical construct, yet there is beauty in its simplicity. This long type of blade is known as the Tomido style, which I would later use to craft my own style, Ganryu. The blade was over 1.5 metres in length, and such an absurd length would be the eventual downfall of Sasaki Kojiro in the legend. However, in this form, it holds quite a nice advantage in keeping distance upon defending these stairs, almost as if it were made for this purpose... Just like I am.” He quietened, simply thrilled to exist in this world, in a circumstance where he could clash his blade with some of humanity’s greatest. “Sasaki Kojiro in this war is only an existence who fights. In this war, by duelling with you, I have been able to enjoy that sole purpose that I have, considering my whole other identity has been robbed of me, and only the desire to yield my blade remains. That sword of yours...” He eyed the still glowing Excalibur that cast an inviting light upon her skin. “It's not to my own taste, but perhaps that is because I see so much of myself in it now as you described it. As a servant that exists only to battle, I can resonate with a blade forged with the hopes and dreams of warriors, those who, ultimately, would give their entire life to the battlefield.”  
She nodded. “That was what I recognised, too, but I wondered if it was perhaps a little strange to say. Kojiro Sasaki, if that is what you wish to be called....”  
He gave a note of surprise upon hearing her address him by name. A cluster of cherry blossoms drifted past, crossing the illuminating stare of the full moon, and Artoria gently smiled, tucking a rippling strand of golden hair behind her ear as the light bathed it with a soft silver halo.  
“The truth is, I can sense a bit of kinship between us also. As a man-made hero who dedicated its life to yielding the blade for the people and their prosperity, I can relate to your plea.”  
He blinked, adding, “well, if we are talking the hero Kojiro Sasaki, he yielded his blade for mainly destruction, starting from the swallow and then ending with the intent to kill his rival. In a sense, we are more connected in our duality, somewhat like yin and yang.”  
She frowned.  
“I am talking about you as you are now!” she said, raising her head as her spine straightened, cheeks somewhat pink. “To carry your hope, as a lone hero who wants to be something greater – there is no greater honour!”  
He laughed. Glancing at her from the corner of his eye, his lips curled. “Is that so?” He flashed a somewhat mischievous but charming grin. “Well, I am a man of such excellent culture and refinement. It makes sense that, as a king, you would feel such a connection to me.”  
He thought she would retort with something witty, or at least shoot him a glare, but instead, she laughed.  
Her voice was gentle, almost like a lullaby. “Truth be told, I have never spoken about my position as a figure-head so casually before. My path as king was forged with regret, and as such, is not always so easy to talk about with anyone without them seeing me as something to be respected, pitied, or idolized.” Her eyes glazed with a sadness, but it quickly dispersed with the nature of their connection. “Strange that, after once sharing a banquet with kings, the one that I would resonate most deeply with was a simple farm boy who yielded a blade with the most opposite nature to mine.” He tone was teasing.  
“Is that so?” he retorted, just ever so slightly smugly.  
She nodded, a gleam of excitement in her eyes. “Would you like give Excalibur a swing or two? Perhaps you would have more of a connection to it than one might suspect.”  
“I'll have to decline,” he said politely.  
The once stone-cold stare of the samurai who yielded the blade like a machine had warmed with feeling. After all, there was only one worthy enough yield the most beautiful blade, he thought to himself with a smile.


End file.
